The Cinema of the Four

Hitman/No Country For Old Men

Movie Inspector Gregson, it may be recalled, was a large and opinionated fellow who occasionally had need of a consulting movie detective to assist him with a matter of interest. His caseload over the recent long holiday season was quite full, and so it was that I found myself riding out with Gregson to the scene of a double feature of homicide.

The first matter that caught Gregson’s attention was that of the “Hitman,” a film adaptation of a video game. To the practiced observer, this fact was readily apparent, as in no other world could a bald fellow in a tailored suit walk about freely with a bar code on the back of his head and draw no unwanted attention. His abductee/clue/love interest/prime motivation, a Russian prostitute had similar luck in wandering about town wearing various not-quite-lingerie dresses that one would usually only see on the most brazen movie starlet at an awards show. The latter excited the interest of Gregson quite a bit, especially her long topless scene. Even though the assassination plot was a bit confusing and almost nonsensical in spots, the visual attractions of “Hitman” held Gregson’s interest, and, I must admit, much of my own.

Gregson had a much lower opinion of “No Country For Old Men,” which had nearly as much bloodshed, but no toplessness or shameless dress. Instead of the likes of Moscow and Istanbul, which were seen in “Hitman,” “No Country” took us to southwest Texas and the much less glamorous folk who reside there, many of those in trailers and cheap motels. The plot and motivations of “No Country For Old Men,” were as clear as crystal. Crime follows money. Where in “Hitman” a mythical trained killer was being paid for purposeful assassinations, “No Country For Old Men” followed (or ran from) a sociopath who killed anyone in his way to get back a satchel full of money.

Both movies revolve around a damsel placed in distress by the plottings of the men around her. Both feature a man who is extremely good at killing and a likable cop who is on that man’s trail. Yet from such a similar base, one could not hope to unravel two more dissimilar stories. Both are very visual, yet one is “what you see is what you get” and the other leaves you pondering deeper things. One wraps up in a very tidy manner, as movies do, and the other goes out of its way to leave you wondering in a non-movie manner.

At the end of “No Country For Old Men,” the screen went black, the titles rolled in silence, and the only thing one could hear was the sound of Inspector Lestrade’s voice going, “That sucked!” Having made a study of the ways of old men, however, as I’ve watched myself head in their direction, I left the scene with a very different view.

“No Country For Old Men” seemed to take place in that same blood-spattered Texas that Quentin Tarantino placed his “Kill Bill” movies, sans all the Tarantino-selected background music. And yet it was a much more thoughtful place.

What Great-grandfather Sherlock might have said:
“You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in ‘77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most instructive.”